


the pretty one with the hair

by loafers



Category: Radio 1 RPF, Union J (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:17:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loafers/pseuds/loafers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nick has a big old crush on harry styles' little sister</p>
            </blockquote>





	the pretty one with the hair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cyclogenesis (addictedkitten)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/addictedkitten/gifts).



> for my darling sara on the occasion of her birthday! i love you <3333

Nick doesn’t realise what he’s been doing until he’s in front of a hall of school children in North Wales. Mostly he feels stupid for not being able to see it, but he’s always been an idiot at things like this. Of course he fancies George Shelley.

He’s texting Aimee when it hits him, looking down at his phone one second, and the next, just another starry eyed school girl like all those watching. Nick’s never seen George perform before, hasn’t heard his voice live, and it’s that that serves as the catalyst for the awful realisation.

George starts singing and Nick looks up. His head snaps up from his phone. He has no choice in it. He looks up before his brain even properly registers the sound of George’s voice. He knows George is pretty, no matter what he says on the radio. You’d have to be blind not to see it, and if you were, it wouldn’t even matter because then you’d just hear his voice and know anyway.

Nick glances back down at his phone and can’t remember what he was typing, who he was texting, can’t remember a single thing.

Matt elbows Nick’s side, nods towards them. “They’re not terrible, are they?”

It’s an excuse to look back at George. Nick’s mouth is dry. “Yeah,” he says, fumbles his phone down onto the desk, and gives in to it, let’s himself watch, smiles back and tries to stop himself from blushing when George throws a grin at him over his shoulder.

-

What he’s been doing, unrealised until he’s faced with George in that school assembly hall in Bangor, is flirting. Outrageously. For weeks.

It seems pretty clear, retrospectively. It started when they swapped numbers when Union J were on the show for Red Nose Day. It didn’t occur to Nick that it was a _thing_ when he was doing it. He gets people’s numbers all the time, especially from people in the industry, it’s _networking_ , something that he considers himself accidentally excellent at. When George gave Nick his number Nick didn’t think about it, it was just natural to accept it, and to give him his in turn.

And he was grateful he had it later on when George tweeted a picture of his mealworm covered head. He didn’t hesitate to open a new text to George so he could send him a few choice words not fit for the general twitter public in response. And then, they sort of just, didn’t stop texting.

Nick’s not completely lacking in self-awareness, he knew he was talking to George a lot all of a sudden, but, and this isn’t the most flattering thing to admit to, but Harry was busy, gone off on tour again, and George, well. He was there and quite similar to Harry in some ways, perfectly shaped to fit the little boring hole Harry’s departure left in Nick’s days. Perhaps Nick was attempting to replace Harry a bit. Another young, silly popstar, but with less on his plate, with enough time to answer Nick’s texts, at least.

Harry is one of Nick’s closest friends, and Nick misses him, but he knows Harry’s life means the occasional long period of distance. He’s known him for a few years now. Harry will turn up again eventually. It’s no big thing if he lets George distract him in the meantime.

Or so Nick thought.

-

Union J finish their performance of _Carry You_ and Nick realises with slight panic that he’s going to need to talk again. Matt elbows him and waves his fist under his mouth in imitation of a microphone. Nick feels breathless but not so much that he can’t manage to make a face at Matt before he opens his mouth to talk.

“That’s really good isn’t it.” Shit. He sounds breathless, too.

“I mean you’re really good at-” Nick’s mentally slaps himself, but it’s useless. George is grinning at him and he’s gushing.

“You should be singers, you’re really good at singing.” He can’t stop saying stupid things or looking at George. It seems to come back to him a bit that there’s a crowd, and he’s on radio. Jaymi is smirking at him. Nick regains a little of his composure, and leads into a record, but not before really making sure he’s made a fool of himself by trying to hit the high notes in Carry You.

George laughs at him like he thinks he’s really funny and it makes Nick’s belly feel warm.

-

The show goes on. Nick manages to push down his sudden unnerving giggly blushy feelings for the most part, although he does keep addressing George specifically more than is really necessary, and ends up offering to buy George a pet pig during the Q and A bit. George isn’t making it easy on him, either.

George stays close. He has a lot of questions.

“What does that one do?” George asks, his finger poised over a slider.

“Er, don’t touch that,” Matt says and reaches as if he’s going to slap George’s hand away. George looks up at Nick with wide eyes.

Nick takes George’s elbow gently in hand and draws his arm back. “It makes Finchy’s head explode,” he says, leaning in like they’re sharing a secret. George giggles. It’s adorable.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want that, all these children. It’d be traumatising,” Matt goes on. Nick wishes he wasn’t there. Not, not there, at the show in Bangor, just maybe not right there behind the desk with him and George in that moment.

George doesn’t seem bothered by Matt’s presence or his snappish chastisement. “Can I wear your headphones?” he asks. He’s already reaching for them. Nick lets him even though Matt makes a noise of disapproval as Nick hands them over. George looks cute in his headphones, his hand over Nick’s as Nick adjusts them to sit correctly on his head, and suddenly Nick’s thinking about how cute George would look in his t-shirts, or in his bed, or on his cock.

-

Somehow, Nick ends up hovering off to the side of the hall with George, alone. Strangely, Nick seems to remember George grabbing him and dragging him away from the others just as the rest of Union J are saying their thanks and goodbyes to the team.

George _still_ won’t stop talking about scratching, even when Nick informs him it’s mostly just done with knobs and things now, that there’s rarely any actual records involved, especially on the radio.

“But you’re a DJ, it’s your job,” George protests. He honestly looks sad about having his perceptions of radio DJing smashed. Nick feels sad that George is leaving and he’s going to have to conduct the rest of the show, and his life, without George’s presence. Oh well, at least breathing and looking Matt in the eye will come a little easier.

It’s a stupid conversation to be having, when Nick can see George’s band and management people ready to leave up on stage. They’re waiting for George, and Nick should end the conversation with a goodbye and, and perhaps a handshake? Is that what’s normal? Everything’s thrown into doubt now. Nick doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want George to go.

“Nah, my job’s mostly talking,” Nick shakes his head. “But I proper DJ sometimes at clubs and things,” Nick says, throwing his voice a bit to deal with the awkwardness of talking himself up. George doesn’t wince at the self promotion, just looks at him wide-eyed and smiling. He’s like a child. Nick’s only ever met children this interested and impressed by his job before. He likes kids. He likes George.

“With records?” George asks.

“No, with CDs, it’s still a bit different, I,” Nick catches himself, a little startled by how easily an invitation nearly slipped out without him even noticing. It’s just too easy. So easy, that Nick lets himself go on, “I could show you. I have a thing, tonight, you should come.” Nick feels _nervous_ , like he wants to look away, suddenly shy. Which is _ridiculous_ , Nick’s the least shy person he knows. It’s only around, god, around people he’s really attracted to that he gets like this, bumbly and blushy and unable to string two words together.

George’s face lights up, his pretty mouth stretched into a wide smile. He looks nothing but delighted. “Really? Yes!” His excitement, again, reminds Nick of a kid’s. He can’t help laughing, a bit delighted himself.

“I’ll text you the address later when we’re back in London,” Nick says with a smile, and George launches himself at Nick. Nick nearly drops his phone, fumbling his arms around George’s skinny waist as George leans up to wrap his tightly around Nick’s neck, his grin pressed to Nick’s cheek and his fluffy hair tickling Nick’s nose. Nick manages a sound that seems to be halfway between a laugh and a whimper, and then George pulls away.

“I’ll see you later then!” George grins, and toddles off to join his bandmates as they’re ushered out of the hall.

-

Nick doesn’t like to do gigs on weeknights anymore, not with having to be up so early for his real job. If he’s going to go out, it’s to have a good time. But he owed a friend a favour, so here he is, eleven on a Monday night at some club he’s never been to and probably won’t ever visit again, if he’s honest.

Nick’s feeling pretty peppy for someone who gets up as early as he does, and it could be the sleep he had on the way home from Bangor, or it could be, and probably is, the nervous excitement coursing through him that made sure he tried three different outfits before deciding and has him checking his texts roughly every three seconds. 

He texted George the address as soon as he got home. George’s reply came with about twelve x’s, and some o’s too. It’d made Nick smile and twist his fingers in his quiff like, like a school girl. Which is stupid, _George_ is the one who’s supposed to lend himself to comparisons with people’s little sisters.

Nick is in the booth, which is up in the corner of a little raised stage. Nick doesn’t like it. He feels on display, although he should have known it’d be like that just from how his name took up almost half the bleeding flyer for the event. 

It’s good though, because he can see George come in. He’s been watching, but he didn’t have to wait. George arrives right on time, wearing the same clothes he’d had on that morning in Bangor. He tries waving and shouting, but the music is too loud, and George is lost in the crowd a bit, heading towards the bar. Nick fumbles his phone out. 

_up on the stage!!_

Nick watches George stop to check his phone and then look up. Nick’s heart beats a little harder just at the sight, Nick’s focus on him illuminating George in a faceless crowd as if by spotlight. Or by the light from his phone on his face. Whatever.

George’s face breaks into a grin when their eyes meet and he waves, Nick grins and waves back. George brings his hand up to his face and makes a circle with his hand, waves it back and forth in front of his mouth and Nick’s eyes go wide, because he’s pretty sure George is making _blowjob innuendo hand gestures_ at him. Nick laughs nervously and fades the next song up a bit distractedly, still squinting at George. Maybe he _should’ve_ brought Aimee with him. 

George points at the bar. Oh, _a drink_. Nick laughs at himself and gives George a thumbs up. Christ, he needs to get his dick under control.

-

George brings him a beer. He presses it into Nick’s hand and has to lean close to be heard, his fingers brushing Nick’s shoulder, his breath hot on Nick’s ear where Nick’s shoved his headphones back.

“You look nice,” George says. Nick screws up his nose and glances down at his outfit. It is very carefully put together but he’d made certain that nobody would be able to tell. 

“Thanks,” Nick practically shouts. He shouldn’t drink, not on a work night, but fuck it, he’s already out way past his bedtime, and the beer is awfully tempting, the bottle cool and wet with condensation in his hand in the stuffy heat of the club. One beer never hurt anyone.

-

“Come here,” Nick says, gesturing George closer. He reaches for George’s arm and George comes easily, stepping close into Nick’s space. Nick guides him to stand in front of him, between him and the desk. “Listen,” Nick says, mouth almost pressed to George’s ear, pulling at his headphones and twisting one around to press to George’s ear so he can hear when he cues up the next track.

They’re pressed cheek to cheek, George’s skin hot against Nick’s, sharing the headphone pressed between them. “When I say, push that up,” Nick says and reaches his arm around George to point to the slider on the crossfader. George looks like he’s really concentrating, staring down at the mixer as he touches the slider Nick indicated.

Nick tries to focus, listen to the tracks and not let himself really feel how nice George feels pressed against him, but it’s hard, George is shifting against him just ever so slightly to the beat, a tiny rocking of his hips. Nick swallows thickly, and feels clumsy and overwhelmed, distracted by the smell of beer from their breath and what must be George’s cologne which is actually really lovely.

He realises just half a second after he misses the cue, but it’s enough for him to feel a pulse of panic and forget to tell George to do it at all, just covers George’s fingers on the slider with his own and shoves it up. Nick cringes at the sound of it, far from smooth, and George startles. Nick shifts back a bit as George turns to face him, the headphones snapping against Nick’s neck. 

“Sorry,” George says, wide eyed. 

Nick shakes his head, smiles and drains the last of his beer. “No, no, you’re a natural. Do the next one?” 

“Okay!” George grins excitedly and turns back to the mixer. Nick doesn’t crowd so close behind him this time, but their arms still brush when he stands next to him and reaches for the laptop.

-

“I am a bit sad that you didn’t play _Carry You_ ,” George says.

Nick laughs. They’ve made it outside the club now, standing in the cool night air, breath coming out in little steamy puffs. They’re lingering and it’s irritating, Nick hates this sort of thing. The hesitation. It makes him want to blurt out a goodbye and huff off. He obviously doesn’t have the guts to make a move on sweet, guiless George if he hasn’t by now, so he may as well fuck off home. He’s so tired he can’t imagine he’ll even bother with a wank.

“Waaas,” George drags the word out, looking from his shoes to Nick’s face, “this a date?”

Nick makes a scrunchy face, an automatic denial on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t go on _dates_. He doesn’t _ask_ people on dates.

“Because I was sort of hoping that it was,” George says.

It was most definitely a date. 

Nick shoves his hands tighter in his pockets and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, bouncing on his heels a little. It really is chilly. “Yep,” Nick admits, a bit hysterically. 

George grins. “Good.” He shuffles in a bit closer to Nick, but he doesn’t touch. His nose and cheeks are all flushed pink from the cold. It makes him even more adorable. Nick takes his hands out of his pockets and flexes his fingers by his sides. He’s about to make a move, reach for George, but George snatches up his hand in his own, his fingers long and thin and freezing against Nick’s warmer ones. 

“Your hand’s so cold,” Nick says obviously, and then screws his nose up at himself. 

George giggles and squeezes Nick’s hand. “People always say that. Cold hands.”

It’s not much better. Now they’re lingering outside a club in the cold, _holding hands_. It is nice, though. Nick’s had a few, admittedly minor, flirtations with various popstars in his time, none of which had been game to grab his hand outside a club, especially not with people milling about. George doesn’t seem to think twice about it.

Nick gives George’s hand a tug, pulling him in closer, and tucks their hands into his jacket pocket. “Warm you up,” Nick says. George giggles. “My flat’s warm.” 

“I like warm flats,” George says, looking up at Nick with a curious little smile, his eyes wide and bright.

“Do,” Nick rocks on his feet, “you want to come back to mine, then?”

George’s hand squeezes Nick’s in his pocket. “Yes,” he says. He looks so happy and so eager, Nick can’t help but smile dopily back at him. He feels as giddy as George looks.

Nick keeps George’s hand held warm in his pocket, keeping him close as he steps out onto the curb and hails down a taxi.

-

Nick’s overnight bag is still in the hallway where he dumped it, the contents pulled out a bit from when he’d been searching for his phone charger earlier. He kicks at the pile, smiling sheepishly at George as he stands aside to let George past him into his flat.

It’s officially past midnight now, and Nick has to be on the radio in less than six and a half hours, but he doesn’t feel tired anymore.

“You have a cool house,” George says with a bright smile as they enter the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Nick says. “I’ve just had the floors done.”

It’s a terribly boring thing to say and kind of braggy. Nick would expect to be made fun of for it, but George just looks at the floors with a consideringly impressed look. 

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Nick says and turns away from George to do so. 

He reaches up delve into his cupboard for some mugs and then yelps and grabs for whatever frigid thing’s attached itself to the back of Nick’s neck - George’s hand. George cackles and Nick gets his fingers firm around his wrist and tugs, swinging them around to knock George back against the cupboards, their legs tangling in the scuffle as George squirms.

“No!” George gasps in between giggles as Nick digs the fingers of his free hand into George’s ribs making George curl in on himself, his face screwed up. He shoves at Nick’s shoulder, tugging his wrist in Nick’s grasp but George really is little, doubly weak with how he’s shaking and jerking from being tickled.

“Your hands are bloody freezing,” Nick says through gritted teeth and George screeches as Nick moves his tickle assault up towards his underarms.

“Please,” George gasps, “stop, stop, m’sorry!”

“Hm,” Nick considers, pausing. George’s hand, the one not held tight in Nick’s grip still, is resting on Nick’s shoulder. Their thighs are pressed together, one of Nick’s between George’s to keep him pinned. Nick taps his fingers against George’s ribs once more, a threat, and George chokes on a raspy little laugh and pushes up against Nick’s body, slides his hand from Nick’s shoulder to the back of his neck, and kisses him. 

George’s lips are cooler than Nick expected, but they warm quickly, pressed to Nick’s. Nick loosens his grip on George’s wrist and George takes advantage of it to pull free and slide his palm against Nick’s, slot their fingers together just like before, outside the club. It strikes Nick as particularly cute, a rush of affection for George causing him to slide his hand around from George’s ribs to his back, pull him tighter against him and kiss him harder. George opens for it, giggles against Nick’s mouth, and Nick just licks hot and filthy into his mouth, trying to kiss George’s capacity for giggling right out of him. 

The kettle steams and boils beside them as their kissing slows, George pulling away with another giggle as the kettle finally clicks off. “Tea?” Nick asks, a bit breathless. 

George smiles wide and dopey, cheeks flushed pink and eyelids drooping. His mouth is red and wet. “No,” George says. Nick bites his lip and tries not to kiss George again. “I like coffee.”

“Too late for coffee,” Nick says. 

“I want to agree because I’d rather have sex with you right now,” George says, almost a bit shyly, not quite meeting Nick’s eyes. “But it’s never too late for coffee.” 

Nick huffs out a laugh and squeezes George’s hand, his fingers still tangled with George’s. What he wants is to offer George coffee in the morning. He wants to take George to bed with him, he wants to wake up next to George, and he wants to make George coffee in the morning. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep that’s causing all his fantasies to revolve around a good night’s rest next to a pretty boy. Nick hopes so anyway.

-

Nick’s fantasies shift pretty drastically once he’s got George in the low light of his bedroom.

“Nick,” George says, his voice lower and throatier even than usual. He raises his arms above his head and Nick takes the hem of his t-shirt in his hands and tugs it off over his head for him. He only waits long enough to note George’s mussed hair before he dips in to kiss him again, walking George back towards the bed. 

George is all long, skinny limbs wrapping around Nick and holding him close. Nick just keeps kissing him and kissing him until suddenly his bed is there and he’s urging George back onto it. George goes easy, hands tugging his belt loose even before his back even hits the bed. Nick takes the chance to shrug out of his own shirt, pull his t-shirt off, his necklace cold when it hits his chest.

George has managed to get his belt and trousers undone and that’s good enough for Nick. He climbs onto the bed, one knee either side of George’s slim thighs, strokes his hand up George’s middle, thumb catching against the elastic band of his underwear before he’s pressing the flat of his palm up between George’s ribs, feels the beat of George’s heart in his fingertips and reaches up to tuck his hand behind George’s neck, urging him up and leaning down to meet him in a kiss.

George moans and it sounds beautiful, feels beautiful pressed into Nick’s mouth, tastes beautiful on Nick’s tongue. George reaches for the front of Nick’s jeans with both hands, fumbling as he touches him, Nick’s cock thick and full under his hands. 

He undoes Nick’s jeans and pushes his hand under the waistband of Nick’s pants eagerly, both of them moaning when George’s fingers close around Nick’s cock. His hand feels good, small but sure. Nick pushes into George’s grip, his hips rolling down against George, and George shoves Nick’s jeans and pants down with his free hand until he can slide his fist up and down the length of Nick’s cock with ease.

“George,” Nick breathes against George’s lips. It’s all he can manage, his arms are actually shaking where he’s using them to hold himself up.

“Will you touch me too?” George asks, and Nick breaks, groaning, dropping down on his elbows and kissing George fiercely, closing the space between their bodies so George is forced to pull his hands away from Nick’s cock. 

“Yeah, I’ll,” Nick says, bites at George’s lip, tugging it between his teeth, making George whine and his hips jerk up, his hands clenching tight where they’re gripping Nick’s hips, shoved just under the waistband of his pants. Nick rolls a little to the side, enough to get his hand shoved down the front of George’s open trousers. He tugs his cock out roughly, kisses his jaw and throat, stroking his hand up George’s cock and thumbing at the slick head, spreading the pre-come around and making it all the better when he slides his hand back down.

“Oh,” George gasps, arching into Nick’s touch like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt, trying to spread his legs but his jeans mostly stop him. His nipples are pink and hard, so pretty Nick has to bend his head to mouth at one, flicking his tongue over it. George’s hips jerk, such a twitchy little thing, moaning and grabbing a fistful of Nick’s hair, eyes closed, eyelashes pretty and dark against his cheeks as he urges Nick’s mouth back to his, lips parted and wet and impossible for Nick to resist. 

Nick tries to keep kissing George as he rolls off him enough to shove his jeans and pants down and George seems just as committed to the idea, nearly rolling on top of Nick in his enthusiasm, but relents when he realises what Nick’s doing and starts kicking his own trousers off. 

It’s better then, all of George’s soft skin against Nick’s, his thighs spreading for Nick to crawl in between, his eyes on Nick’s cock as he reaches for it, licking his lips. It’s hard for Nick to focus through all the want coursing through him, blindly rutting his hips down into George’s tight, perfect grip as he imagines all sorts of things - George’s pretty red mouth stretched around his cock, opening George up on his fingers and burying his cock in him, fucking him slow and deep and then hard and rough, he wants everything, but this is perfect too. Just George’s hand and his pale chest flushed prettily under him, his breath coming quickly, his eyes flicking from Nick’s cock fucking his fist to Nick’s face and back again. 

Nick leans down over George and licks into his mouth, George’s leg coming up to knock against Nick’s side, the soft skin of George’s thigh against Nick’s hip, it’s hard to think of anything but fucking him, and Nick rocks his hips down against him like he is. George gasps, one sweaty palm sliding to the small of Nick’s back and tugging him in, squirming down a little and spreading his thighs further, shifting his grip until Nick feels George’s cock hot and hard against his own, George’s hand pressing Nick’s cock down against his, the one on Nick’s back urging him to rock his hips down, and so Nick does, moaning as he rubs his cock against George’s, a delicious tight, slick slide, the fat head of George’s cock bumping up against the sensitive underside of his own. 

_Fuck_ , Nick thinks, because he’s going to come like this. He can feel it, building up quick and curling hot low in his belly, making him grind his hips down quicker, tighter. He kisses George hard and hopes George won’t mind too much, won’t be disappointed if Nick comes in two seconds like a teenager. 

George looks so lost to it, his face flushed so red, his eyelashes fluttering, gasping into Nick’s mouth, hair curling damp at his temples. It only brings Nick closer, makes him want to make George come. He thumbs over one of George’s hard little nipples and pinches at it a bit rougher when George moans, feels satisfied at the twitch of George’s hips under his own. He strokes George’s hair back from his face, tugging his head back and dragging his teeth down the line of George’s pale throat, licking over George’s sharp little Adam’s apple.

George’s nails dig into Nick’s back and Nick sets his mouth against George’s throat, sucks hard and fucks his hips down against George’s body quick and frantic like he would if he was fucking him. He feels it when George comes, can’t miss it, the sudden flood of come against his cock slick and hot, George going tight and still, his mouth open wide, eyebrows knitted together like he hurts. Nick kisses his face, tries to kiss his mouth but it takes a long moment for George to kiss back, lips lazy, moving soft and slow against his.

“Sorry, I,” George shudders, “couldn’t hold off, ah.” 

Nick kisses him and kisses him, “It’s fine, m’close,” his voice tight, strained. George moans like it pleases him just as much to hear it as did his own orgasm. “Fuck,” Nick gasps and pushes himself up off George, sits back on his knees between George’s spread legs, gets a hand around his cock and strokes himself frantically, slick with George’s come. 

George looks so beautiful, all pale and flushed and dirty, belly and cock slick with smeared come, reaching down with a delicate finger to wipe through the mess, eyes hooded as he watches Nick. It’s like an invitation, Nick thinks, George all spread out for him. Nick can’t hold back any longer, collapses forward and jerks himself off over George’s flat belly, hot stripes of come splattered over his already messy skin. 

George reaches up and pulls Nick down into a long kiss, Nick more breathing against George’s mouth than kissing him. It takes a long moment before Nick has the capability to roll off to the side and snatch up a handful of tissues. George lies there boneless, so Nick cleans him up. 

“Tickles,” George says with a soft little giggle as Nick drags the tissue gently over his skin.

“Sorry,” Nick mumbles and leans down to kiss George again as he wipes over his cock, making him moan prettily. 

“Ah, you’re doing that on purpose,” George says, his voice tight and breathless, his belly trembling under Nick’s touch. 

“You can get up for a shower if you’d like.”

“No,” George says firmly and wraps his arms around Nick’s neck, pulls him down on top of him tightly. Nick figures they’re clean enough. He tosses the tissues over the side of the bed and attempts to arrange his body around George’s into a more comfortable sleeping position and ends up curled against his back. He already feels half asleep, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. He has no idea what the time is and he doesn’t want to know.

George tugs Nick’s arm over his waist and tangles their fingers together, tucks their joined hands against his chest. “You’ll play _Carry You_ on your show tomorrow, yeah?” 

Nick laughs. “Really? That’s what this was about?”

“No, but it’d be nice anyway. S’good song, I like it.” George yawns impressively and wiggles back against Nick, his fluffy hair in Nick’s face. Nick gives in and buries his nose in it, finding the skin at the back of George’s neck and kissing him there. 

“Yeah, alright, as long as you make the coffee.” 

“Deal,” George says with a squeeze of Nick’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> (the title is a reference to david walliams' description of george on the red nose day show. i know nothing about djing (if that is not obvious by now!!))


End file.
